In that far-off, mythic land
that has been crucified and bled,
that has been loved
back from the dead,
first hyacinths raise curly heads.
The lilacs and the Judases
are meditating on release,
the coming of Persephone
out of the shades,
with gifts of peace.
Stark shadows soften into leaves
as angles lose severity;
I long for that austerity
that feasts on Lenten fragrances.
As village women whiten tombs,
erasing winter's vestiges,
and raven is displaced by dove,
and hearts relinquish grievances,
earth prepares its feast of love,
renews its vow to resurrect.